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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917141">What It Was</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident'>that_1_incident</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dare Me (TV 2019), Dare Me - Megan Abbott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse of Authority, Canon Divergent, Canon Related, Dare Me, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Student/Teacher, Teacher x Student, Though the age of consent is 16 in Ohio, inappropriate student/teacher relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:15:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Addy's not about to ruin it, this humming closeness between them that's sparkling with promise and taut like wire.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Colette French/Addy Hanlon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What It Was</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This begins as a hybridization of two scenes in Chapter 7 of the book (the first 90-ish words) and <a href="https://sellingsecrets.tumblr.com/post/640699143363477504">episode 6 of the show</a>. Needless to say, it diverges.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
<i>If it hadn't been what it was, it would've been beautiful.</i><br/>
<br/>
<b>Megan Abbott, <i>Dare Me</i></b>
</p>
</div><hr/><p>"Fuck it," Coach says. "You think I care about this carpet?"</p><p>And soon enough, they're both kneeling on the carpet, woven wool in the deepest forest green. </p><p>"It's the face weight," she says. "That's what counts. Matt says you have to have forty ounces per square. And at least five twists per inch. He read it on the internet."</p><p>"It's beautiful." Addy's never really looked at carpet before, but now she can't seem to get enough of the feel of it on her knees, between her fingertips, dug deep.</p><p>Coach reclines as if she's atop that sumptuous puff of fabric she calls a bed—the luxury duvet, the array of decorative pillows scattered like froth—and something within Addy, primitive and insistent, wants them to lie there together, to drink it all in. She crosses her legs instead.</p><p>"I feel like you, like, made it," she admits, her tone laced with apprehension. She still gets shy around Coach, suddenly cognizant of being out of her depth, as if she's back on JV and yearning to fly high. "I mean, look at this place. You won."</p><p>All at once, Coach looks very serious. "You can win too, Addy. If you really want it."</p><p>Addy feels hot all over, feverish in that overpowering way before a fall or a faint, an abrupt reminder of the power of gravity. She breaks eye contact and returns her focus to the mossy carpet, only to glance up when Coach's fingertips press pointedly against her knee. </p><p>"Never feel guilty for wanting things," Coach says firmly, without blinking. She shakes her head slightly, precisely, using just enough force to make her loose curls quiver. Her fingers remain on Addy's leg. </p><p>Reflexively, Addy runs her fingers down Coach's slender forearm, tracing the curve of the bone without considering what she's doing, what it means. Everyone says Addy's an overthinker—Coach does, Beth does—but she's not about to ruin it, this humming closeness between them that's sparkling with promise and taut like wire. <i>She wants it she wants it she wants it.</i> </p><p>--</p><p>What happens next is a fantasy, dreamlike and hazy, soft hands and warm skin. Coach kisses her, which feels unbelievable, then touches the small of her back and eases her down to the carpet. </p><p>Addy's struck by the giddy, arresting fear that Matt will walk in on them, his wife, his wife's student, but a lifetime of being friends with Beth Cassidy has taught her to ride an adrenaline rush like a rollercoaster. So she does. </p><p>--</p><p>Even the denim that clings to Coach's hips is silky and expensive. The zipper feels hard and cool as Addy traces the length of it, exposing the scrap of satin beneath, and Coach doesn't take anything off, simply unfastens the button at the top of her jeans and slides her underwear to the side, practically inviting Addy to slip into her wet-hot slickness. She rolls her hips once, twice, guiding Addy inside her.</p><p>When Addy crooks a finger, Coach shudders, so she does it again, again, again. The angle's wrong but not entirely, still close enough to make Coach whine and whisper <i>Right there</i> until her breath catches in her throat, until she lapses into silence. Addy mistakes her furrowed brow for a wince at first, unsure what to make of her sudden yelp and exhalation. When the barest hint of a tremble passes across her lower lip, the reality hits Addy like a slap, stinging and sweet.</p><p>"Oh my God, you just..." Addy says quietly, half to herself.</p><p>Coach takes a few moments to catch her breath, lips parted, eyes glazed and unfocused. </p><p>"We probably shouldn't do that again," she murmurs, stretching her lithe body across the plush carpet to retrieve her hair clip, and Addy watches, transfixed, as she glides languidly back. </p><p>Something unnamed rushes through Addy's veins at that moment, pooling hotly between her legs. <i>Probably</i>, is how Coach phrased it, not so much a condemnation as a tip, a piece of advice they'd be wise to follow. But she's not sure how much latitude Coach is giving her with <i>Probably</i>, how much latitude Coach is giving herself. </p><p>"OK," she replies dazedly, staring unabashedly as Coach gathers her curls into a ponytail, brushes a stray strand off her flushed face.</p><p>Coach takes a deep, cleansing breath like she's midway through the meditation she does with the squad before a game—<i>inhale blue, exhale red</i>—and Addy watches her composure settle back over her like a shroud. It's as if Coach went from sixty to zero, clicking back into strict precision and steel-strung poise, but her face looks different somehow, softer, gauzy at the edges. It's a winking look, secretive yet unrepentant, as if she drew the curtains but left a gap. </p><p>Some deep-down part of Addy had wanted this for a while, maybe since she met Coach, for sure since the time she and Beth caught Coach with Sarge Will. That was the night Coach wore a shade of lipstick Addy had never seen before, dark and luscious, ringing her wide-open mouth like she'd consumed something bloody. </p><p>Addy has the absurd realization that in the not-so-distant past, Colette French wasn't part of any of their lives, but now the cheerleaders are the planets and Coach is the sun. It reminds her of what Sarge Will told her the night he drove her home, about how you can be saved without ever knowing you were in trouble. </p><p>--</p><p>"See you at practice," Coach says calmly, unlocking her front door with purpose but without hurry. Her back is ramrod straight, her gaze cool and unyielding, and she holds her head high, unapologetic to a fault.</p><p>"See you," Addy mumbles, turning awkwardly to face the meticulous lines of the Frenches' front lawn. She's not sure what social conventions to follow when her body smells of sex and sweat and Coach's perfume—when she knows that if she puts her fingers to her mouth, she'll taste Coach there.</p><p>"Addy?"</p><p>She spins like a ballerina, primed and ready.</p><p>"Thanks." Coach twirls the hamsa bracelet Addy gave her around her manicured finger, the shadow of a dimple flickering at the corner of her perfect mouth. Addy wonders if she's referring to the gift or what came after, the way she quivered and climaxed against Addy's delving hand.</p><p>"You're welcome."</p>
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